


The Earth Reforms Us

by Cosmic_Biscuit



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, Therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:23:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5715883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cosmic_Biscuit/pseuds/Cosmic_Biscuit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post Pacifist-Run, Asgore finds an old wheel and takes up pottery for self-therapy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Earth Reforms Us

The first attempt never even makes it to firing.

He tries to be gentle. He tries to make large hands be more dexterous. He tries to mind his claws. But soft clay is easily squished, easily warped, easily scored too deep and cut through. It comes apart in his hands and he sits and stares at the sad, sorry, misshapen lump of nothing, thinking of bad decisions and wasted opportunities and so many failures that blend together to resemble the mush in front of him.

He isn't sure if it's laughter or sobs that bubble up in the back of his throat.

Bowing his head, he swallows them back. He scrapes the mess off the wheel and back into the barrel of wet clay and water, then gets up to go wash his hands.

He’ll try again tomorrow.

===

The fifth attempt shatters in the flames.

He had read on the temperatures best for firing, thought he’d gotten the timing and heat modifications right. But science has never been his best subject, or perhaps he just got too nervous and the fire burned too hot in his hands. Perhaps it was his frustration at his lack of progress that had gotten the better of the fire. He’s never been very good at controlling that. Never been very good keeping it from boiling over into other emotions he could no longer control, words he couldn't take back.

He gently touches the shards of half-baked earthenware, mind elsewhere for a moment.

Then he shakes himself back to the present and pulls over a wastebasket and sweeps the pieces and dust into the trash.

He’ll try again tomorrow.

===

The eleventh attempt isn’t especially attractive.

Painting with glazes is very different from painting with, well, paints. There are strange drips in the flower petals. His attempts at making a decorative pattern for the rim turned out muddy, and he’s particularly not fond of the shade of lavender that the handle turned out. Too familiar. It's the color of a royal who has long abandoned the title and a smile he'll probably never see again. He tries to hide the cup on the shelf of his tea supplies, unable to look at it, yet unable to bring himself to throw it away for some reason.

But clever eyes spot it when Frisk comes over for triple vanilla wafers and caramel sugar tea and when they're fascinated by his new hobby and ask if they can keep it if he doesn't want it, he decides maybe it’s not so bad and hands it over gladly.

He’ll try again tomorrow.

===

The twenty-seventh attempt is his best teapot yet.

Pristine white white enamel makes it resemble fine china, and little raised patterns delicately glazed in lavender and gold give it an elegant appearance. There are still some little faults; the spout twists a little near the tip and the enamel dripped a bit at the base of the handle, but it's still a project to be proud of. There are no ghosts of the past lurking in it. 

When Toriel gives him a raised eyebrow when he presents it, clearly expecting dramatics, his returning smile is simple. "To go with Frisk's cup," is all he says with a small shrug, and means it without the smallest bubble of hurt in his chest.

He’ll still try again tomorrow.

Why stop a good thing now?


End file.
